Natalee on Shuffle: Review of an enchilada dinner

This was the dinner hubby cooked for us last night:

Mmmm...looks delicious, right? He loves to cook, and he loves to "plate" the food like a Food Network Star.

It smelled SO delicious as he cooked up the rice and chicken - adding spices like cumin and some Penzey's something-or-other-9000.

It tasted like cardboard.

Okay, that's not actually a critique on my husband's cooking here - it had nothing to do with the food, and everything to do with the environment.

Did you know that it is nearly impossible to taste your food with a preschooler screaming and crying and pulling on your arm? I didn't.

You see, we knew the little guy wasn't going to eat this meal. So my very thoughtful husband made him this instead:

It was served on a plate, it ended up on the napkin because my dear son didn't WANT cheese on quesadilla bread. He wanted cheese on peanut butter and jelly bread. So, we went through quite a while trying to calmly reason with my son while he had a complete breakdown over the exact carbohydrate upon which was melted his cheese.

I tried nearly everything:

I told him I couldn't understand his crying and whining voices and to use his regular voice when he was ready.
I told him that it was bread, just different bread.
I carried him upstairs to see if he wanted to sit up there for a bit to rest until he felt calmer.
I told him not to pull on my arm while I tried to sit at the table ignoring the crying and eat some of my meal (I had gotten up at 5 to run, and it was already 7:30 p.m. - a long day and I was really hungry.)
I even told him a story about how one time I had to eat something I didn't like ("When you were little, Mommy?", "Yes, when I was little") and regaled him with the story of Great-Aunt Louise and the Pimento-Loaf, lacy swiss cheese, and mayo sandwich.

His responses:

More crying and grabbing my arm.
Crying that included "I love you Mommy" - you are breaking my heart you manipulative little darling.
Grabbing and holding onto me as if the world would end if he let me go.
Throwing himself on the floor.
After the story about how, "I ate that sandwich Aunt Louise gave me because she made it for me because she loved me - don't you want to do the same for Daddy?" His reply: shaking his head sadly with a (brutally honest) "No."

Now, I forgive my son. He is only three and a half. He was clearly over-tired. He hadn't napped at daycare and had apparently woken up all his classmates too. But he needed to calm down so that we could both eat.

Finally, Super-Daddy stepped in after sitting there observing all my attempts and failures and first shows the little guy the tortilla bread and give him a tiny taste of it. Watching the bread flop around and fold up finally calmed him. Then, when my son still didn't want the quesadilla, he acquiesced to the request to put the quesadilla on "peanut butter & jelly bread".

Like this: